ESIO TROT
Movie based on the eponymous children's book by Roald Dahl

We watched this the other night. It was utterly charming.

The lead characters are played by screen legends Dustin Hoffman and Judi Dench. The story deals with two elderly neighbors, Mr. Hoppy (Hoffman) and Mrs. Silver (Dench) who fall in love but are unaware of the mutual feelings and don't have the courage to declare their love for each other. Instead, Mrs. Silver gets herself a tortoise to lavish all her love and affection on, while Mr. Hoppy devises a plan to make the tortoise appear to grow bigger rapidly to impress Mrs. Silver in the hopes that she will reciprocate his feelings for her. Part of the plan is a so-called ancient magic spell, which uses English words in its formula back-to-front (for example, esio trot = tortoise).

It is a children's story, so the plot is not realistic, but it is sweet and has a happy ending. In true Roald Dahl style, the character of an adult, Mr. Pringle, is portrayed as a complete and insufferable idiot. It's not only the viewer who thinks Mr. Pringle is an idiot - Mrs. Silver also thinks that way, though it is only revealed toward the end of the story, but in very colorful language and imagery.

The story is not the kind that children appreciate at one level, and adults on another because of all kinds of subtleties and deep meanings cleverly tucked away - it is altogether a story for children, told by someone who deeply understood their minds and could fully enter their worlds.

DEPARTURES
Fair Daffodils, we weep to see / You haste away so soon (Robert Herrick)

When I arrived in South Africa two months ago I knew the chunk of time ahead seemed considerable but would be exhausted in the blink of an eye. I was right. It is almost time to leave, and a few words of thanks are in order.

First and foremost, thank you to my sister for hosting me and being considerate, sweet and lovely, as is her nature. She is the perfect companion, and I have written a poem about our connection, which could apply to any siblings who have a similar bond. It is followed by short notes on the poem.

I was very happy to have experienced the spring in Pretoria. I had only ever experienced the cold here - and cold severely inhibits me. Pretoria was beautiful even during winter, but now it is fragrantly beautiful, decked out in blossoms and blooms.

I feasted on the avocados while I was here. The creamy and buttery avocados alone are sufficient reason to retain South African citizenship - seriously.

I had the run of my sister's kitchen, and cooked to my heart's content. A life without cooking is no life at all. A life WITH cooking, on the other hand, in the Kingdom of Kitchen, is the ultimate good life.

Thank you to all who were happy to see and have me, and to the Country of my Skull (as author Antjie Krog puts it) that is in my blood and sinews and DNA, even though I am ashamed of it at times, with good reason.

Here is the poem.


unter den linden
for L.

siblings can be sublings
or manipulative superlings
many non-equal binaries besides

but not us

siblings from the same rootstock
sometimes emerge divergent 
different species 

but not us

we provide mutual shelter along the way 
fertile soil ... and syllables to make
our human growth habit
more bear-able

we prefix and suffix each other
organically
unter-linden-ally


NOTES:

The idea of oneness/separation is central to the poem, introduced in the opening stanza by "sub-", "super-", "non-equal" and "binaries", and reinforced later by "divergent" and "different".

There are two well-known German titles referencing linden (lime) trees. The older one, Unter der Linden (Under the lime tree {singular}; "der", with an -r), is the title of a love poem by Walther von der Vogelweide (circa 1170- 1230). The more recent one, Unter den Linden (Under the lime trees {plural}; "den", with an -n) refers to the most famous boulevard in Berlin. In the divided Berlin it was on the east side. This connotation of former division fits in with the meaning of the poem. My sister's name being "Linde" looks very similar to "Linden", so that ties together the dedicatee, title and vegetation metaphor (see next paragraph).

Two images are used in the poem: vegetation ("rootstock", "species", "soil", "growth habit", "organic"), as well as linguistics ("syllables", "prefix", "suffix"). They are later fused by using words such as "bear-able" (hyphen intentional; plants bear fruit, and humans bear burdens) and a creation such as "unter-linden-ally", which incorporates all of the following: the idea of unity/separation ("unter"), the title ("linden"), the vegetation metaphor (Linden = lime trees), and the linguistics metaphor ("ally").

40 YEARS ON
Meeting up with an old school friend
or: The more things change, the more they stay the same.

I met up with an old school friend yesterday after 40 years. We were in high school together, in the same class, for five years. Andre says he saw me once while I was in the military but I have no recollection of that whatsoever, so I will have to stick with the 40 years.

Meeting up with Andre reminded me of why I liked him back then. In a way it was as if no time had elapsed, and nothing had changed. Andre, having met several other classmates since we left school, believes that people essentially don't change: that they're still - deep inside - exactly what they were then.

We talked about other classmates whom we had, and hadn't, seen since we left school, about our teachers, and about our own lives and attitudes. It was a very natural and relaxed interaction, not the compulsive, jovial and semi-hysterical "do you still remember so-and-so and what he/she did ..." kind of exchange that happened at the one solitary school reunion (a general, not year-based, one) I ever attended - and promptly vowed never to allow myself to be talked into attending again.

I sometimes wonder how my classmates experienced me when I was at school. Something I do regret is that I didn't really notice some students and never bothered getting to know them better, people I now (with hindsight) realize were interesting, independent thinkers who didn't buy into the rhetoric of the time. Because I was a musician - the only student in the entire school who did music as a school subject (granted, it was a very small school), allowances were made for me, as are done for artists, who are generally regarded as "different". I know one student - a very rebellious and outspoken one during a very conservative time - did recognize something in me that he identified with. I have to mention here that my sister played an essential part in my progressive "enlightenment": she was studying literature at university during my high school years and got to read books that were banned due to the political agenda in South Africa. She freely shared her ideas were me, which I internalized and in turn used in my school essays, which must have shocked (or at least startled) my teachers.

Andre asked me if I would have recognized him if I hadn't known who he was. I said I might not have recognized him if I had passed him casually on the street, BUT I certainly would have recognized him if he had been in a line-up and I was asked to identify him. It is fascinating how one can recognize the old in the new, or new in the old, depending on how you look at it.

An anecdote involving Andre: in our first year of high school, on the last day of the initiation process (which was outlawed by the subsequent headmaster), we had to report early as per the instructions of the seniors. Andre and I were there early. We were directed to the football field, given a matchstick each, and told to measure the circumference of the field using our matchsticks. After we had measured a few yards, we were told to get up and run around the field x number of times. But just as we were about to start, the senior student who had just given the instruction suddenly remembered that Andre was asthmatic, so he let him off. He then turned to me and asked: Do you have asthma too? Of course I said yes - even though I had no such condition. (I was very chubby at the time, but not asthmatic.) I was let off too as a result. Andre had definitely saved the day.

For me, the whole point of meeting up again after decades is not to reminisce endlessly, or compare acquisitions and accomplishments (the latter didn't even enter into the conversation or our minds when Andre and I met yesterday), but to reflect on things, to reevaluate and redefine, to meet as if for the first time without the prejudices and mental filters we had back then. I have always been in a "circle" of my own, not buying into things that I seem to be expected to at the deepest level, but not making an issue of it either. It's the way I was living my life then, and it's the way I've been living my life ever since.

Andre and I will stay in touch from now on, having rekindled our friendship. Actually, "rekindle" might not be the correct word; we will simply continue where we left off, and it doesn't even feel (to me) like we ever did leave off.

WALLANDER
British TV detective series

My sister has been talking about Wallender for a long time and I finally got to watch a few episodes last week. I was hooked immediately.

The TV series is adapted from Swedish novelist Henning Mankell's Kurt Wallander novels. It is set in Sweden, particularly in the town of Ystad in the southern county of Skåne. Prior to the British production a Swedish version was made. The author of the novels subsequently approached British companies with a view to making a British version. One Swedish critic regarded the British version as superior to the Swedish one.

The BBC has produced four seasons in the series, each comprising 3 (long, 90-minute) episodes: in 2008, 2010, 2012 and 2016 respectively.

The series has received great critical acclaim and is clearly in a class all of its own. It is very European in sensibility; more than that, it is very Scandinavian. The series could never have emanated from North America, for example - the sensibility is simply too different.

One of the many interesting facts about the BBC series is that it led to an upsurge in tourism from the UK to the region of Sweden where the novels are set. Traditionally, the main tourists to Sweden had been Germans, the British regarding Sweden as cold and expensive.

The plots (of the episodes I've seen) are slow-moving but meticulously and very cleverly crafted. The episodes are complete in themselves and don't follow on from previous ones. The story lines are rather grim, so the series is not suitable for what my sister calls "binge-watching". I will continue and finish watching the remainder of the seasons the next time I'm in South Africa, but I will space the episodes and seasons out.

ALL MY LOVED ONES
1999 Czech movie with English subtitles

My sister's coworker Frik told us about this, which he had seen on DVD courtesy of the Unisa library. We promptly borrowed the disk and watched it last night.

The (factual) story is set against the backdrop of the events leading up to the Jewish holocaust, and features the removal of a boy from the Silberstein family in Czechoslovakia to safety in England through the Kindertransport arranged by a relatively little-known Englishman, Nicholas Winton (1909-2015). The rest of the Silberstein family was unable to get out and perished in the holocaust. Nicholas Winton rescued a total of 669 children, most of them Jewish.

One invariably thinks of Oskar Schindler when it comes to the mass rescue of Jews from the holocaust, but there are less celebrated ones who contributed to humanity no less than Schindler did - someone like Nicholas Winton.

The movie tells the story outlined above, but that's virtually all it does. It doesn't engage, or move, or haunt the viewer. In the hands of a good filmmaker it could have been heart-wrenching and soul-searing to watch. It SHOULD have been heart-wrenching and soul-searing - but it isn't.

Still, it's worth watching as it seems to be the only movie that deals with this particular part of history. A story however imperfectly told is better than one not told at all - especially this one.

For the record, my sister's appraisal of the movie is somewhat (possibly considerably) more positive than mine.

SPIRITUAL HOME
Queenswood, Pretoria, South Africa

Even though my spirituality is inclusive, and my sacred "space" is primarily inside my own head, I do feel the need for brick and mortar, ritual and synergy sometimes. Since I have a special, umbilical-cord-like bond with the Catholic Church, I went to Mass at Christ the King Catholic Church during my two-month visit, and it felt like a home-coming.

The parish priest, Father Chris Townsend, struck me as both a good priest AND a good parish priest (the two don't always go hand-in-hand). Here are some of the things I particularly liked about him. * He speaks clearly and naturally, reads fluently and reflectively, projects well, and has a good sense of both timing and humor. * He obviously has loads of common sense. There is every indication that he is running the parish intelligently and transparently. The parishioners are very lucky indeed to have him.

The music was good - mostly folksy, but attractive, featuring instruments such as the guitar and trumpet along with the organ. One of the guitarists proved to be very proficient at his craft, embellishing melodies rather than just playing chords, which transported me away from the humdrum strum. I was reminded of how well brass instruments support congregational singing.

An anecdote deserves being shared. They use an electronic notice board in church to project the lyrics of songs as well as the spoken parts of the mass. One day there was some confusion as to whether the Gloria would be spoken or sung. No words were appearing on the electronic board, and the musicians were silent. The priest (I seem to recall it was a visiting one, while the regular priest was in Poland for an international youth conference) started reciting it, and the congregation followed suit. However, after the first few lines everyone got stuck, and had a good giggle about it. The musicians were then galvanized into action, and the lyrics appeared onscreen. Back in the day, before the advent of electronic notice boards, everyone without exception knew all the spoken parts off by heart. Nowadays, with information available at the touch of a button, people don't need (or care) to remember things anymore. I think memory spans have shrunk along with attention spans.

I will treasure the memory of my time spent there. Initially the big interior space of the building was very cold (for me), but as spring sprung it became progressively less frigid. I was happy to make this transition. Even though it was cold at times, at one level, it was always warm and welcoming, at another.

REQUIEM FOR THE LIVING
Music concert, Pretoria, South Africa
28 August 2016

We attended the second performance of the world premiere of this work yesterday afternoon, in the ZK Matthews Hall at Unisa. The composer was Rexleigh Bunyard, who was a fellow undergraduate music student with me many years ago. We were never personal friends and didn't keep in touch through the years. My sister learned about the concert and the name Rexleigh Bunyard rang a bell.

I didn't quite know what to expect of the work - I hadn't even known that Rexleigh composed - so I was expecting the unexpected. It turned out to be a richly rewarding experience.

Just some background: a Requiem Mass is a Mass for the Dead in the Roman Rite of the Christian church. It is the first word of the entrance antiphon: Rest eternal grant unto them, o Lord (requiem = rest). Rexleigh's requiem is not for the dead, however, but for the living. This is evidenced in numerous ways throughout the work, one of them the simple reversal of the usual order of the Mass, for example the fact that the final item in the usual requiem, the Libera me (Liberate me) becomes the first item in this one.

It is a rich and multi-layered work, one that would require several viewings and listenings to fully appreciate. Here are just some thoughts after a single hearing.

Actually, "hearing" is not the appropriate word. The Requiem is a kind of "Gesamtkunst", a visual drama abounding in sensory clues and impressions. Without the visual element, much is lost.

Rexleigh's Requiem is a mature work, by which I mean it emanated from  a mature mind. The musical sensibility that comes across is confident and well-rounded. I'm not sure how many prior works she has written, but it seems unlikely to me that anyone could start out with a work like this. Rather, this must be the culmination of an ongoing creative output.

I was struck by how deeply intelligent the work was, how much meticulous thought had gone into it; how effective and creative yet not-for-effect the effects were - how natural and organic they were, in fact, in spite of some of them being quite novel at a certain level.

The work is at the same time religious (because it references religious texts), secular (because it draws on the essence of the texts but moves far beyond them), multicultural and uniquely South African. To me, it is a perfect blend of all those elements, perfectly integrated in a wonderfully perceptive and unselfconscious way. If I did have any prior misgivings, these were that this requiem would be a(nother) self-conscious attempt (in the South African context) at inculturation, but it was anything but.

My sister pointed out that the work seemed to work with "sound blocks", and that, once she had figured that out, she could relax and just sit back and enjoy the music. She had intuitively hit the nail on the head.

The work was vibrant and bustling and colorful. There were some poignant and conventionally beautiful moments too. I personally found the Lacrymosa/Kyrie eleison deeply moving.

I found Requiem for the Living totally engaging and very uplifting, and would have bought a CD recording of it, had it been available. A DVD (incorporating visuals) would be better than just the audio, but even that would be a poor substitute for a live performance, guaranteed to sweep you up by its sheer energy, and dwarf you by the magnitude of the scale and concepts.

The above thoughts just scratch the surface (or maybe they capture the essence, who knows).

I would have liked to have program notes before the concert. It was printed on the program that the full program notes could be downloaded from the website at www.reqliving.org (this website is an excellent resource, by the way), but we had to turn our mobiles off at the start of the concert, so how were we to benefit from the program notes when it mattered the most?

Rexleigh came on stage at the end of the concert. I wouldn't have recognized her after all the years without knowing who she was, but I could see the youthful Rexleigh in the mature version: still with the perkiness and vivacity of a little bird, but now very sophisticated.

As an aside, my sister spotted the famed South African opera singer Mimi Coertse, first in the lobby before the concert, then in the audience as we were leaving at the end of the concert. I only saw the back of her, and she struck me as shorter in stature than I had imagined.

I was thinking of the huge amount of effort that must have gone into producing something like this: first the countless hours of planning and creative endeavor, then getting funding for the project; the logistics of getting musicians to rehearse the work and finding rehearsal and performance venues; the years of prior training of the musicians themselves ... the list goes on almost endlessly. The conclusion: you cannot put a price tag on this kind of endeavor and experience. It is ultimately a labor of love, one that needs sponsoring to see the light of day; a startling, miraculous happening not recognized by many, but enriching the lives and minds of those who do in unimagined ways.

Thank you, Rexleigh, and all the sung and unsung heroes who helped make all of this possible.